Try, Try Again
by Wilusa
Summary: This Original DS fic is a sequel to 'Second Chance,' and contains major spoilers for the series' 1840 storyline.


  
DISCLAIMER: _Dark Shadows _and its canon characters are the property of Dan Curtis Productions; no copyright infringement is intended. Count Petofi/Etienne DuLac is still played by Vincent Irizarry, who still doesn't belong to me. _Note: This story_ _contains major spoilers for the series'_ _1840 sequence_.  
  
******************************************************************************  
.  
.  
**I**  
.  
.  
Elliot Stokes let himself into his apartment, headed for the coat rack...and froze at the sight of a coat he had never seen before.  
  
He hesitated, then decided a burglar would be unlikely to wear an expensive overcoat, let alone hang it up while he did his thieving. Besides, he didn't really care. Since the tragedy that had befallen his friends and his young niece, nothing seemed to matter.  
  
He hung his own coat on the rack and continued into the living room. A casually dressed young man was lounging in the best armchair, drinking Stokes' brandy.  
  
Stokes frowned at him. "There was no need for you to come here," he said warily. "I told you there were no hard feelings. I understood why you couldn't do anything to help."  
  
His frown deepened. "Are you after the portrait? You couldn't use it to control Quentin now! He's hopelessly insane. And the portrait's at Collinwood. You couldn't reach it without getting past Gerard Stiles' ghost."  
  
That was a lie. The portrait was in the Old House. Stokes had never lied to Count Petofi before, and his palms began to sweat.  
  
"You do me an injustice, Professor." The Count looked wounded. "Please sit down. Have a drink."  
  
Stokes felt the first stirring of plain, old-fashioned anger at Petofi's barging into his home and taking over.  
  
But he sat down.  
  
Petofi poured brandy for Stokes and another glass for himself, lit a cheroot. Then he settled back and looked levelly at Stokes.  
  
"The truth is," he said, "I haven't been able to put this out of my mind since you left Switzerland. I hate being forced to see myself as a coward."  
  
Stokes' eyebrows shot up. "I've never thought of you as a coward!"  
  
He sipped his brandy, then said thoughtfully, "There's a difference between courage and foolhardiness. What you told me in Switzerland made sense. You know yourself well enough to be sure what happened in the original history.  
  
"When you found you were unable to cast out the ghost, you wouldn't have said, 'I'm sorry, I can't do it,' and walked away. It would have become a matter of pride. You would have hurled ever more powerful spells at Gerard Stiles, and he at you, until one of you was destroyed. And obviously, it was he who was still around in 1995.  
  
"Knowing that, it would have been foolish to try again in this reality. There could be only two possible outcomes. If you didn't let yourself be drawn into a duel to the death, you'd accomplish nothing. If you did, you'd be killed--and _still_ accomplish nothing."  
  
"That's what I told myself," said Petofi. "But it didn't ring true. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became--with Stiles, and with myself. I had a nagging feeling I was overlooking something...and last night, it hit me.  
  
"I'd been assuming the only alternatives were to do what I undoubtedly did in the original history--go in there and try, initially, to banish the ghost--or to do nothing. But there is a third possibility. To take a completely different approach."  
  
He leaned forward intently, drink and cheroot forgotten. "Professor...I want to try something else. It's not too late! I can't guarantee I'll succeed, but at least there's a chance...and if I do, I won't ask for payment. This is personal."  
  
Stokes stared at him. "What...what do you have in mind?"  
  
"Time travel," said Petofi.  
  
"You mean...to go back...?"  
  
"Yes, back to 1840," Petofi said crisply. "To _prevent_ the problem."  
  
"Count...I must tell you, Barnabas and Julia have already gone back--"  
  
"Oh." Petofi looked deflated.  
  
"But they've been there so long I'm afraid something has happened to them. I've made a half-dozen attempts to go back myself, using the I Ching, as Barnabas did. I couldn't.  
  
"You, with your powers, might succeed where they appear to have failed. But how do you propose getting there?"  
  
"The Stairway at Collinwood," Petofi said with renewed enthusiasm. "I have a two-part plan--"  
  
"But the ghost won't let you near it! He'll kill you!" Stokes rose and paced. "Julia was able to reach it that first night because she practically ran right into it, while she was fleeing the zombie pirates--"  
  
_"Zombie pirates?"_  
  
"But you'd have to get through the whole house. Wait hours or days for the Stairway to appear. And you yourself said it can't be trusted to take you where you want to go."  
  
"In this case, I believe it will," said Petofi. "Did you notice I said 1840--not 1841, when Stiles died?"  
  
That brought Stokes up short. "That's right, you did. I hadn't mentioned it. I know Julia was taken to 1840, but I have no idea why."  
  
"Because the first Quentin Collins--the builder of the Stairway--died in that year," Petofi said smugly, "and Stiles was responsible. The reason the Stairway is unreliable is that it's a living being. It has a mind of its own. And I seem to have guessed correctly that if it's given a chance, it will try to save its creator."  
  
Stokes sat down again. "Fascinating. I'm sure you're right. But the Stairway can't help you get past Gerard Stiles."  
  
"As I was about to tell you, I have a plan. I intend to"--his lip curled--"reason with him."  
  
"_Reason with_ Gerard Stiles?" Stokes was aghast. "Count, you haven't seen this ghost. You can't imagine--"  
  
"Listen! I mean to tell him the Collins family dealt successfully with a previous haunting--by a Quentin Collins murdered in 1897--by sending someone back to 1897 to _prevent his murder_. I'll point out that the time traveler had no love for Quentin, but Quentin benefited, all the same.  
  
"Now that I know Barnabas and Julia are in the past, I'll tell him that. I'll say they're trying to prevent _his_ murder--I assume, to have died at 30, he was murdered--but it's beginning to look as if they won't succeed unless I'm allowed to go back and help them."  
  
He smiled, a most unpleasant smile. "My real hope, of course, is to leave him thoroughly dead, in no condition to linger as a ghost or anything else. I'll try not to let him see that."  
  
Stokes was looking at him with new respect. "My God," he said softly, "that may work. Why didn't I think of it? It might have worked for me, too! Can I go with you?"  
  
"Ah...I'd prefer that you not come with me. Not exactly."  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
"You haven't heard the second part of my plan." Petofi took a deep breath. "Professor...I want to go to 1840, and I think my powers may be needed there. But there's a problem with my doing what I just described.  
  
"If the ghost is approached by a man he's never seen before, he's apt to take a _very_ close look. If he sees through the external appearance, to the 250-year-old sorcerer I really am...and perceives me as a mortal enemy...I'll be in deep trouble. We already know he's capable of destroying me.  
  
"Therefore...I'd like to borrow your body."  
  
"Borrow...my body?" Stokes felt the universe closing in on him. Felt himself unable to move, to cry out...  
  
Petofi's eyes bored into him. "I won't do it without your consent. If only because I would then have to choose between killing my present body--with you in it--or using a dangerous amount of my psychic energy to maintain the possession against your will.  
  
"But if you think about it, I believe you'll agree my plan is our best chance. Stiles knows you by sight, as a Collins family friend who poses no threat to him. If I approach him in your body, he'll be less likely to take that closer look. And in 1840, I won't have to waste valuable time winning Barnabas's and Julia's trust. They'll accept me as a friend and ally--and in this situation, that's exactly what I'll be.  
  
"As for you...with your cooperation, the mind transfer will be easy and painless. You can't lose. If I survive, I'll return your body in no worse condition than it's in now--and hopefully, your friends and niece will be safe and sound. If I die you'll inherit a healthy body twenty-five years younger than your own, my cover identity, and a vast fortune."  
  
Stokes closed his eyes, suppressing a shudder. "I understand. I agree. But I'd still prefer to go with you! If you--in my body--were obviously in charge, doing all the talking, Stiles might ignore a nephew or student accompanying you--"  
  
Petofi shook his head. "A teenager might get by him, but not a 30-year-old. And there's another reason I want you to stay here. If I fail, you'll still be alive to try something else--though I can't imagine what."  
  
"You're right." But even as he said it, Stokes wished desperately that Petofi could "borrow" his motives along with his body. The old sorcerer was clearly obsessed with the negative goal of destroying Gerard Stiles. Saving the innocent would be secondary, if he thought of it at all. But if he reached the Stairway alive, he would have a far better chance of success than anyone else.  
  
_"Now,"_ said Petofi. He grasped Stokes' right hand, and transferred a massive, red-stoned ring from his own ring finger to Stokes'. Stokes noted, in a dreamy way, that his finger was much thicker than Petofi's, and wondered that the ring seemed to fit them both perfectly...  
  
"The ring is merely an aid," Petofi was saying. "I'll leave it with you while I'm away. Barnabas and Julia would be shocked to see it on Elliot Stokes. It has minor magical powers, you may enjoy playing with it."  
  
Reality seemed to blur...  
  
Stokes was aware of Petofi slipping the ring onto his, Stokes', finger. But surely he had done that, a moment ago?  
  
And then he realized he had somehow moved from one chair to the other. From one _body_ to the other.  
  
He watched, dazed, as Count Petofi stood up--in Elliot Stokes' body. "I'll adjust to this very easily," Petofi said in a pleased voice. "It's remarkably like my original body, when I was your age."   
  
He looked down at Stokes. "I have no idea when I'll be back. But I'd advise you to continue living here. Tell anyone who asks that the Professor has gone away for a rest, and you're one of his graduate students. May I ask where you keep your car keys?"  
  
Stokes found his voice and muttered, "Coat pocket. In the hall."  
  
Petofi was out the door before he managed to add, "Good luck."  
.  
.  
.  
**II**  
.  
.  
Stokes was trying to concentrate on the _Journal of Parapsychology_ when a soft knock came at the door. He started violently, and the _Journal_ wound up on the floor--where he let it stay.  
  
"Who's there?" he called, unable to keep the fear out of his voice.  
  
"It's me...I'm alone. Let me in! We have to hurry."  
  
Stokes rushed to the door, only to find himself all thumbs as he fumbled to remove the double lock. "Thank God," he said weakly as Petofi came in, still in Stokes' body...and 1840 dress.  
  
"God had nothing to do with it." Petofi looked at him anxiously. "You remember who I am, don't you? Why we traded bodies?"  
  
"Of course I remember. _Did you succeed?_"  
  
"If you mean, succeed in saving Collinwood and its residents...I think so. The house looks normal, but there were no people in the main rooms, and no one answered our shouts. The family may simply be out. I suggested to Barnabas and Julia that we change into more appropriate clothes before exploring further."  
  
"Barnabas and...and Julia came back with you?" Stokes heard his voice shaking. Tears welled in his eyes. "She's all right? That is, _they're_ all right?"  
  
"Yes, they're fine." A note of amusement had crept into Petofi's voice.  
  
"You must have arrived in 1840 in modern clothes--why didn't you change before you came back?" A trivial question, Stokes knew, but it would serve to cover his embarrassment.  
  
"I burned them soon after I got there, as a precaution. Julia did the same. Collinwood was a dangerous place then...  
  
"Just now, I said I'd come home and change and go right back. Your car was still in the driveway at Collinwood, where I left it...a few days ago? Was it only a few days for you, as it was for me?"  
  
"Yes. But Barnabas and Julia have been away for months."  
  
"Even so, Julia found her car where she normally parks it, when she isn't going to be home long enough to justify putting it in the garage. When I left, she had changed her clothes, and was planning to drive Barnabas to the Old House and wait while he changed."   
  
Stokes shook his head. "I can't get used to your talking about such commonplace things. To think that the horror may really be over...my niece Hallie may be alive..." He sat down suddenly, and the tears he'd been suppressing for months came in a flood.  
  
Petofi began peeling off his 1840 clothes. "Do collect yourself, Professor," he said impatiently. "I want to reverse the mind transfer _now_. Then I can fill you in while you're dressing, and during the drive back to Collinwood...and _you_ can 'rejoin' Barnabas and Julia."  
  
Stokes looked up through his tears. "Oh, _yes!_"  
  
"But this can't wait." Petofi paused with one leg out of his trousers. "I have to tell you the most startling part of our adventure. It's no wonder 'Gerard Stiles' seized on an opportunity to destroy me in the previous history--_he was possessed by the spirit of Judah Zachery!_"  
.  
.  
**********  
.  
.  
"I'll get out here," said the now-youthful Petofi, "before we round the last bend. There may already be more people at Collinwood. If I'm not seen, you won't have to explain me."  
  
"Agreed." Stokes pulled over to the side of the road. "Can we review what I need to know once more?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Let's see if I can remember it." He furrowed his brow in concentration. "This 'Angelique'--the woman I knew as Cassandra--tried, out of love for Barnabas, to use supernatural means to destroy Judah Zachery. But Zachery defeated her and stripped her of all her powers. He left her with his henchman...uh..."  
  
"Charles Dawson."  
  
"Thank you. He left her with Charles Dawson, so he could attend the executions of Quentin and Desmond Collins. Angelique hit Dawson over the head with a candlestick and killed him, then found the Head of Judah Zachery in his house and took it to the execution site. While she was trying to convince the authorities the Head was possessing Gerard Stiles, not Quentin, Desmond grabbed a gun and fatally wounded Stiles. That caused the Head to turn into a skull, proving the psychic link. Judah Zachery died moments before Gerard Stiles--allowing Stiles time to confirm he had been possessed, and beg Quentin's forgiveness. Quentin and Desmond were released, and all charges dropped.  
  
"Later, a fanatic named Lamar Trask shot and killed Angelique. He escaped into Parallel Time--but he'd been wounded in a knife-fight with Barnabas, and probably died soon afterward."  
  
"You've got it," said Petofi. "You know...everything Barnabas and Julia know."  
  
"Everything..." Stokes' eyes narrowed as he caught the implication. "There's more, isn't there?"  
  
"Of course there's more." The sorcerer favored him with a cryptic smile. "Would you like to know the whole story?"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"Tonight, then." Petofi opened the car door. "You've earned it. Meet me back at your apartment at 8:00. I'll tell you what really happened...and _you_ can decide how much to tell Barnabas and Julia."  
.  
.  
**********  
.  
.  
"It's amazing," said Stokes, as he put another log on the fire. "No one but the time travelers, and me, has any memory of the real events of these last months. Everyone else has false memories--including memories of _us_--that cover the period quite nicely." He chuckled. "Quentin and Carolyn actually remember having found each other, romantically, during the Christmas holidays!"  
  
Count Petofi laughed softly, sipped his drink. Stokes returned to his, then went on with growing perplexity. "Maggie Evans and Sebastian Shaw are married and living in Boston. No one remembers Maggie was attacked by a vampire, and Shaw abducted her--out of love--while he was supposed to be taking her to Windcliff for her own protection. And no one remembers the existence of his assistant, Roxanne Drew! How did changes in 1840 affect _that?_"  
  
"I can give you a partial explanation." Petofi's eyes twinkled. "It's my understanding Roxanne Drew was the vampire. Shaw knew it, but he was in her power and couldn't betray her. Miss Drew was apparently quite possessive of Shaw, and attacked Maggie Evans out of jealousy.  
  
"Barnabas and Julia found the same Roxanne Drew in the area in 1840. Which led to certain conclusions..." His delicately raised eyebrows spoke louder than words.  
  
Stokes was astounded. "She was _that_ old a vampire? And they realized it, and destroyed her in 1840?"  
  
"Something like that. I don't know all the details...it happened before I got there." He avoided meeting Stokes' eyes.  
  
"I see."  
  
"You really don't have any regrets about being back in your middle-aged body, do you?" Petofi seemed eager to change the subject.  
  
"No, none at all. It may be hard for you to believe, but I never hoped to keep your body...or coveted your fortune." Stokes gave a contented sigh, settling back in his chair. "Now...tell me the real story you promised!"  
  
"Very well." Petofi stared into the fire. "When I arrived in the past, I was stunned to learn--almost immediately, from Julia--that Judah Zachery was at the root of the problem. That changed everything... I spent most of my time there trying to find the Head and the Mask of Baal."  
  
"The Mask of Baal..." Stokes searched his memory. "I've heard of that. Satan himself supposedly gave it to Judah Zachery."  
  
"Not true." Petofi made a face. "Judah had the audacity to steal it from him! Satan admired his bravery, so he never punished him or repossessed it by force. But he never helped him again, either. Judah was on his own.  
  
"In 1840, I told Barnabas I--'Elliot'--would search for the Head and Mask. I never told them why I was volunteering for that particular assignment.  
  
"The truth is, my powers include some degree of clairvoyance. I was intrigued to learn from Julia that Angelique's did not. I can't locate an object psychically if I know merely that it's somewhere in Collinsport. But if I'm near it, I can sense its presence in a locked drawer, or a closet, or under a floorboard. I can even penetrate most magic spells for the concealment of objects.  
  
"I didn't tell Barnabas and Julia that, of course. Nor did I tell them..._I actually found the Head!_"  
  
"You _found_ it? But--"  
  
"I'll explain what happened. But first...knowing what you do of Judah Zachery, Professor, didn't you think it odd he would have trusted Charles Dawson with the Head?"  
  
"Y-yes. Now that you mention it..."  
  
"He _didn't_," Petofi said flatly. "He was keeping it at Collinwood the whole time. Possibly moving it from place to place, but he may not have felt a need to do even that.  
  
"You see...he was far more powerful than any other warlock I've known. And his concealment spell was more potent. I'm sure he was directing a portion of his psychic energy, constantly, to reinforce that all-important spell. Even I couldn't penetrate it--"  
  
"But you said--"  
  
"Until the end. When we were very close to running out of time before Quentin's execution." His eyes had a faraway look. "I _found_ it! I held it in my hands! And I knew how to destroy it. If I had hurled it into the nearest fireplace, Judah would have been destroyed, then and there. Gerard Stiles would have collapsed and died, and Judah would have died with him.  
  
"But that wouldn't have helped Quentin and Desmond. The Head would have been gone, disintegrated--nothing left as evidence. Stiles' death would have been chalked up as one more that Quentin had caused from a distance. I didn't care in the least about Quentin and Desmond. But I so wanted, not only to destroy Judah, but to have the satisfaction of _foiling all his plans_ at the same time...  
  
"I started downstairs with the Head, unsure what to do next. Angry voices were coming from the drawing room. I ducked out of sight. And then I learned what was happening..._why_ I had finally found the Head.  
  
"Judah had just taken Angelique prisoner. But to fight off her psychic attack, he had been forced to divert a fraction--only a fraction--of the energy he'd been channeling to his concealment spell. For me, that was enough.  
  
"I didn't pick up any impression regarding the Mask, then or later. Which leads me to suspect...no, I'll get to that in due course.  
  
"If Judah had been about to kill Angelique, I would have intervened. But by the time I came within earshot, it was clear he intended to take her somewhere. So I followed at a discreet distance, still carrying the Head, and saw him leave her at Dawson's.  
  
"I...w-wanted to save Angelique." Before Stokes could be sure he had heard that tremor in his voice, Petofi cleared his throat and said, a bit too forcefully, "As with Quentin, not for her own sake! To thwart Judah, merely to thwart Judah.  
  
"And I wanted to stay in the background myself, if at all possible. No repetition of my too-public gloating in 1692. So this situation seemed made to order.  
  
"I slipped into Dawson's house by a back door and 'hid' the Head, almost in plain sight. Then I concealed myself in the room next to the one where Dawson was holding Angelique, and waited for her to try to escape--as I knew she would. At the appropriate moment, I, ah...lent her a hand."  
  
"It was _you?_" Stokes threw his head back and guffawed. When he had his mirth under some degree of control, he gasped out, "You used--the power of the Hand--from concealment--to kill Dawson? I should have known! How could anyone have believed Angelique was able to kill him by clobbering him with a candlestick?"  
  
_"I'm glad she went to her death believing she had done it all herself."_  
  
The unexpected tightness in Petofi's voice brought Stokes back to full sobriety. His always-keen intuition had been sharpened still more by his own sensitivity on the subject of Julia. Could it be? Could Petofi have cared in that same way for Angelique? Dreamed of bringing her back to see him in the young, handsome body that had meant so little to Stokes?  
  
"Yes, I killed Dawson," Petofi continued in a flat voice. "I knew Angelique would find the Head, and I trusted her to take it from there." He was gazing into the fire, no trace of a smile on his face.  
  
"A fact I find especially fascinating..._every one_ of the time travelers--and you--played a vital role in accomplishing what we did. Angelique's psychic assault on Judah forced him to weaken his concealment spell. But"--he grimaced--"she only did what she did because of Barnabas. And even then, I believe only I could have found the Head."  
  
"Julia--?"  
  
"Yes, Julia too. Barnabas only lived to influence the outcome because when his life was in danger, a ghost who wanted to save him--a woman who had loved him--was able to communicate with Julia."  
  
Stokes reflected on that a moment. Said quietly, "Yes, I see the connection."  
  
After a long silence Petofi said, "I'll never forgive myself for not having gone to the execution site. Though I'm sure Angelique knew what to do--she just didn't have time."  
  
Stokes was confused. "Didn't have time? For what? She _succeeded!_"  
  
Petofi met his eyes, and Stokes received a sudden, shocking impression of the man's true age.  
  
"Think about it," said Petofi. "Gerard Stiles was almost certainly murdered in the earlier history. For what it's worth, I'd guess that after he killed the children, Daphne Harridge turned on him and shot him, and he was so furious he wasted his last moments of life killing her. That's neither here nor there. My point is, _his death didn't end the possession. The spirit of Judah Zachery lived on in the astral shell of Gerard Stiles."  
  
_"But--" Stokes went pale. "You're saying--"  
  
"I'm saying, _there's no reason why a shot fired into Gerard Stiles should have destroyed Judah Zachery. Or the Head_." He sighed wearily. "The Head could only be destroyed by fire. Its surviving that fire in the tomb was pure luck.  
  
"Quentin was to be executed at dawn, and the square was lit by torches. Angelique should have grabbed one and set the Head afire. That would have destroyed it, and Judah, and Gerard Stiles--in spectacular fashion, in front of a dozen witnesses.  
  
"I'm sure she would have done it in another second. But Judah saw it coming, and acted first. He psychically prompted Desmond Collins to shoot him."  
  
_"What?"_  
  
"Then he deliberately caused the Head to assume the appearance of a skull. A parlor trick, nothing permanent. But Angelique was swept up in the others' amazement, accepted what she was seeing.  
  
"And finally, the possession ended before Stiles' death. That can mean only one thing. _Judah successfully transferred his psyche to someone else_."  
  
Stokes sat dumbstruck for a full minute. At last he said in a small voice, "Do you...have any idea..._who?_"  
  
"Yes. Lamar Trask."  
  
When Stokes offered no objection, Petofi continued. "Judah had already made great headway in corrupting Trask. That opens the door for this sort of possession.  
  
"When I heard what had happened, I was immediately suspicious. I went into town to make inquiries, and my worst fears were confirmed. 'Trask' had gone to the authorities in his capacity as undertaker, to discuss burial arrangements for Stiles and Dawson. And he had offered to 'take that horrible skull off their hands,' smash it into fragments, and dispose of it. Everyone else was glad to be rid of it."  
  
Stokes swore under his breath.  
  
"I went to the Trask Memorial Chapel. He wasn't there, and I spent an hour searching fruitlessly for the Head. But of course, I didn't really expect to find it. Even if it was there, Judah would have woven another concealment spell. I couldn't risk tearing the whole building apart on a hunch, especially when I might look directly at the Head and not be able to see it.  
  
"I knew Judah's top priority would be to conceal the fact he had survived...and with that in mind, he'd make no open use of supernatural powers. I never anticipated he'd go after his enemies with a gun...  
  
"If I needed more proof Trask was Judah Zachery, the murder at Collinwood would have provided it. 'Trask' undoubtedly meant to kill both Angelique and Barnabas, leaving no witnesses. Barnabas knocked the gun out of his hand after he shot Angelique. But I find it highly significant that he had _shot Angelique first_. The real Lamar Trask was a mortal enemy of _Barnabas_. He would have shot Barnabas first and Angelique as an afterthought, not the other way round."  
  
"Do you think he survived, after he escaped into Parallel Time?"  
  
"I'm sure he did. I don't believe he was any more seriously wounded than Barnabas. He used his powers to create the _illusion_ he was seriously wounded. I wouldn't be surprised if, after we left, he staged an elaborate death in the Parallel Time room, in full view of observers in our universe. If his body was found and had to be buried, some hypnotized dupe put it in a shallow grave, with no coffin--and he clawed his way out minutes later.  
  
"The coincidence of the room changing just when he needed it to is beyond belief! I'm convinced Judah had found that room before, and discovered he had the power to _make_ it change. He was probably going back and forth frequently, at night--may even have had covens in both universes. Why not? The people at Collinwood in Parallel Time were afraid of their own shadows, all cowering behind locked doors. An army of warlocks could have marched through the house without their knowing it."  
  
"And that's where you think he hid the Mask of Baal," Stokes said softly.  
  
"That's right. If he had the run of the house in both universes, why not protect himself by concealing one of his talismans in each of them?"  
  
Stokes refilled their glasses, and for some time they sat in bitter silence, slouching ever deeper in their chairs.  
  
Then Petofi sat bolt upright. "I have an idea!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Let's assume Judah is still alive--moving from one mortal body to another, as I myself do now." At Stokes' grimace, he said virtuously, "_My_ preferred technique is to seize, at the last instant, the body of a man who has just tried to kill me, and transfer him into the dying body. So the victim brings it on himself."  
  
"And if he isn't young and handsome, you provoke someone else into trying to kill you?"  
  
"I won't dignify that with an answer. Getting back to Judah...if he's in human form, there's no need for the Head to be near him. All that's necessary is that it be concealed where no one will find and burn it.  
  
"Suppose he really did hide it in what was, for 'Lamar Trask,' the most obvious place--under a basement floorboard in the Trask Chapel. _Why come back for it?_ It could hardly be more secure. Even if the building were torn down, or fell down, no one would bother to rip out a basement in such an old part of town. And in time, he undoubtedly would have let the concealment spell wear off..."  
  
Both men came to their feet.  
  
"Even if the building is gone," Petofi said excitedly, "I can find the location!"  
  
Stokes started toward the door. "Where was it?"  
  
"Front Street."  
  
He came back and flopped in his chair.  
  
"What's the matter?"  
  
Stokes poured fresh drinks for both of them. "Count...as I'm sure you know, Front Street was named that for a reason. It was on the waterfront. Truly the front street of Collinsport, nearest the water.  
  
"And in a coastal storm fifty years ago, the entire street--and the land under it--were washed out to sea!"  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
(The End)  



End file.
